Episode 150: Uncle, not an older brother (1)
All volunteer activities during the Golden Week holiday have ended.
Now, tomorrow morning, everyone will be back at the academy.
On the last night at the orphanage, the volunteer students gathered in the auditorium to listen to Quilty, the director of the orphanage.
Quilty appealed to the audience with his appearance resembling an old theater actor who was famous for his appeal.
“… … So, our parents are working hard for you even at this time… … But unlike you, the children in this nursery do not have parents… … So, the wonderful people of the academy, who should be models for everyone, will become the guardians of these children… … These children will remember for the rest of their lives the grace you took care of for ten days… … You are no different from the parents who gave birth to and raised these children with their hearts over the past ten days. … .”
Tongue. It only shows its true value when it is attached to the devil’s mouth.
The devil’s tongue is indeed the devil’s tongue, so many students in the auditorium shed tears.
Quilty’s speech reminded the volunteer students of the kindness of their parents and furthermore made them feel strong sympathy for the children of this orphanage, even temporarily.
‘It’s not even funny.’
Except for Bikir.
In fact, Vikir knew that Quilty’s speech was merely a subtle stimulation of the respect and debt that academy students originally had for their parents.
Evidence of this can be clearly seen in the large donation box that appeared immediately after Quilty’s speech.
“ruler! Show the love you’ve felt for the children in our orphanage over the past 10 days! As much as you have received from your parents, please share with the children here!”
At Quilty’s words, the students scrambled to open their wallets.
Jinglang- Jjalgeulang- With my daughter!
The sound of gold coins falling and crashing is loud.
As much as the students of the academy respect and love their parents, the sums pile up to form a small golden mountain.
… … Of course, Bikir had no respect or love for Hugo, so he didn’t pay a penny.
Of course I had no intention of donating anything to the devil.
at that time.
Someone approached Bikir.
It was Sinclair.
She said as she tugged at Bikir’s collar.
“brother. Doesn’t your brother pay?”
“… … no money.”
“money? why don’t you have money? As an academy student.”
Admission to the academy requires a staggering amount of tuition each year.
Sinclair pretended to be angry and stabbed Bikir in the side.
“Isn’t that too heartless? The children here, unfortunately, do not have parents. We have to help.”
That was the general reaction of students who came to volunteer.
All except Bikir. So Tudor, Sancho, Piggy… … Even Bianca was pouring all the money she had into the donation box with tears running down her nose.
But Bikir shook his head resolutely.
“There is no need for anything like parents.”
“Eh?”
Sinclair widens her eyes with a puzzled expression.
Bikir added briefly.
“Anyway, the world has to go through on its own. The existence of parents only functions during childhood, when the help of others is essential, and is unnecessary otherwise.”
In fact, Bikir did not think that the children at the orphanage were pitiful or pitiful in the first place.
Just as Bikir himself was born and raised as a hunting dog in the Baskervilles, the children at the orphanage also survived their childhood with the help of the daycare facility, so they didn’t think they needed a parent.
The ‘world’ is full of pain and must be fought and overcome, and ‘parents’ are only guides at the beginning of the long battle to help with the first tutorial.
It is a perspective that only looked at the functional aspect, not the emotional aspect, but in the Baskerville family, where Bikir lived a lifetime, and in the ‘Age of Perdition’, where he lived half his life, it was a natural child-rearing view.
And, naturally, that perspective is rather foreign to the common people of our time, who have never been through the ages of destruction.
It was right to say that those who have been through war and those who have not been through war will not understand each other until death.
Sinclair’s gaze at Vikir changed slightly.
From a curious and playful expression to something sad and sorrowful.
“… … brother.”
Before long, Sinclair opened her mouth.
“Come over to my house later. During holidays or vacations.”
“… … ?”
“Let’s have a meal together.”
Sinclair lifted her tiptoe and reached out to stroke Bikir’s hair.
“… … What are you doing?”
When Bikir asked in a puzzled way, Sinclair suddenly came to his senses, then with a gasp, put his hand behind his back.
Seeing that expression that seemed genuinely embarrassed, it seemed that it was an act that I did not know about myself.
“Uh… … That, then I’m done! I’m going to see the kids! brother! Really, let’s have a meal later! Because I will live! Free up time after returning from volunteer work!”
She hurriedly backed off, waved her hand, and disappeared into the crowd.
“… … What a strange guy.”
Bikir frowned.
What kind of person Sinclair was before returning naturally comes to mind.
A girl who spoke little but laughed well. She was moderately friendly with everyone, but she was a girl who didn’t really get along with anyone. All four years she attended the academy, she never missed first place in handwriting and practical skills. She and she disappeared at the same time as graduation, a mysterious existence that did not appear in the world.
She was known to be of commoner origin, but strangely, none of her origins or background was known.
Bikir frowned.
‘Come to think of it, among the chirashis that Xindi Wendy sent me, there was a content that said, ‘Among the freshmen of the class of 20, there is a member of the royal family.’ no way… … ?’
Considering Sinclair’s outstanding looks, talent, and bizarrely hidden background, you never know.
When Vikir was thinking about this and that in her mind.
Unlucky Quilty’s voice is heard again.
“ruler! From now on, the children of our nursery school will say thank you to the parents who gave birth to them from the heart!”
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A spotlight then illuminates the other side of the stage.
There were rows of children from the orphanage, dressed to the fullest, with awkward and shy expressions on their faces.
Each one is seen holding in his hand a garland of poor workmanship.
Quilty said with a glistening smile on his lips.
“Now, kids~ Should I say thank you to the people who became your parents for these 10 days?”
It is obvious that the plan is to use children as bait to scrape more donations from academy students who have not yet had social experience.
However, only the hearts and bonds between the children who made the wreaths and the volunteers who were happy to wear them around their necks were genuine.
The children approached with pounding hearts, hoping that they would like the bouquets and flower necklaces they made themselves, and the older sisters, older sisters, older brothers and older brothers accepted the children’s gifts with a look of delight.
Tudor, Sancho, Piggy, and Bianca hugged the children tightly.
“Ugh! I Tudor! I swear! Until the day I become a great hero, I will come to visit you every week! Of course, even after that!”
“In the north, children are the most precious. They are the buds that will lead the future. The future of the empire depends on you. Work hard.”
“Aww! Brother will definitely come again! Next time I come, I will bring a lot of delicious food!”
“really… … If 10 days is short, it’s short, if it’s long, it’s a long time. I’ve been terribly enamored with it.”
The children hung wreaths around their necks and kissed them on the cheeks.
but.
“… … .”
Especially around Bikir, children did not approach well.
Bikir’s blunt and cold atmosphere played a part in that, but in fact, the biggest reason was that Bikir didn’t show up well in front of the children for the past ten days.
Sewer cleaning, plumbing repairs, restaurant tile work, playground maintenance, etc… … Bikir always took care of the dirty work in the shadows, and because of that, Bikir’s activities were not revealed.
Is that why? The volunteer activity score, evaluation, and image of Bikir were quite thin.
at that time.
A young child came to Bikir’s side as well.
It was a nymphet.
“… … .”
“… … .”
Nymphet looks at Bikir quietly.
Bikir also stared blankly at the nymphet.
Rarely, Bikir broke the silence first.
“… … What do you see?”
Then the nymphet held out what she had hidden behind her, somewhat hesitantly.
It was a small wrought-iron wreath.
“hmm. thanks.”
Bikir received the garland handed to her by the nymphet.
Normally, I would bend my legs to the children’s eye level and let the child hang the wreath on their neck, but Bikir had no such consideration.
Then, the nymphet took Vikir’s hand.
Then, moving her dainty fingers, she wrote on Bikir’s palm.
‘Thanks for the ball, oppa.’
I’m talking about work in the sewer.
Bikir nodded once.
“It was nothing.”
Bikir also did not feel particularly inspired because he had acted to rescue the eggs of Madame Eight Legs.
together? Unexpectedly, the nymphet showed a willingness to continue the conversation.
‘Can I come again next time?’
For an instant, Bikir’s pupils shook.
next. What’s next?
Hounds prepare for death every moment.
A life that could be killed by being counterattacked by the prey or boiled by the owner.
So, like other volunteers, Bikir couldn’t easily say the word next.
Furthermore, isn’t Nymphet a child who has been greatly disappointed by the volunteers who are getting less and less frequent?
After thinking for a while, Bikir finally nodded.
“As long as there is a ‘tomorrow’ for me and for you.”
That was the maximum promise Bikir could make.
Upon hearing that, the nymphet’s eyes widened in an instant.
Before long, the nymphet smiled bashfully and nodded.
‘I’ll wait.’
Nymphet’s wet fingers plant a message of promise in Bikir’s dry palm.
yet. It’s kiss time.
All the other children kiss the other volunteers on the cheek.
However, neither the nymphet nor the vikir stood still and did not particularly try to bring their mouths and cheeks close to each other.
Eventually, Bikir turned around first.
“It’s okay if you don’t kiss. I don’t like it either.”
“… … .”
The nymphet was visibly taken aback.
A nymphet hesitantly waving her hands for some reason.
Vikir left one last word to such a nymphet.
“… … and. It’s not ‘brother’, it’s ‘uncle’.”
For a thirteen-year-old girl to hear her brother’s voice, it was a strange Bikir.
With the visibly regretful nymphet behind, Bikir tried to leave the auditorium on foot.
“Now, hold on!”
It would have happened if Saint Dolores hadn’t stood in the way of Vikir.
